The Beautiful Game
by theoofoof
Summary: Ruth suffers through Harry and Wes watching the football. Two-shot inspired by Euro 2012. AU sometime after S8 – I'll let you decide at what point.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Beautiful Game  
**Fandom:** Spooks  
**Rating**: T  
**Parings/Characters**: Harry/Ruth, Wes Carter  
**Warnings**: None

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Spooks or any of the characters you may recognise. They all belong to Kudos/BBC.

**Summary**: Ruth suffers through Harry and Wes watching the football. Two shot inspired by Euro 2012. AU sometime after S8 – you decide at what point.

**A/N:** As I'm now something of a football widow for the next month, I thought I'd put my free time to good use. I failed though and this happened instead! Lol! Inspired by my fella's enthusiasm for the current round of international football that is taking place in Europe. Unbeta'd so apologies for any errors.

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**Chapter 1**

Ruth wipes her hands on the tea towel when the doorbell rings. "I'll get it, shall I?" she shouts through to Harry, who is ensconced in the living room watching the football.

"Thanks," he calls back. "Tell that lad to get in here; it's about to kick off."

Ruth shakes her head and opens the door. Wes stands on the other side, hands in his pockets, blonde hair tousled.

"Hi Aunt Ruth," he greets, giving her a hug before turning and waving at his Grandparents, who had been waiting in the car for someone to answer the door. Satisfied, they pulled away leaving Wes for the evening. "Has it started yet?" he asks as he steps inside and Ruth closes the door behind him.

"Just about to!" calls Harry from the lounge and Wes rushes in.

"Hey Uncle Harry!"

"Cutting it fine aren't you?"

"Sorry. My granddad's driving a little slower these days, but he refuses to admit it, so won't leave any earlier." Harry nods in understanding; he knows about aging and losing one's faculties a little more than he likes to admit. "So what do the teams look like," Wes asks.

"Bloody useless that manager; don't know what he's thinking with his selection."

Ruth enters before Wes can reply, offering him a drink.

"Got any of that real lemonade?" Wes asks.

Ruth smiles. "Of course. I always get some for when you're visiting."

Harry has looked out for Wes since Adam's death, several years before; going to his rugby matches and school prize-givings, but his involvement in the young boy's life has increased as Harry and Ruth's relationship developed. At one of his prize-givings, shortly after Ruth had moved in with Harry, they had been talking to one of Wes' teachers who had mentioned he had been struggling with his Classics classes. Ruth, being Ruth had then taken it upon herself to give him some extra tuition, inviting him for tea one night. Once Wes had grasped the basics of The Odyssey, the three of them had had lovely evening. So enjoyable in fact that having Wes for tea became a regular thing; every few Saturdays at first but eventually, it became every week.

This week he has come to watch the football; England v Spain in the European championship quarter final. Although slightly more of a Rugby Union and Cricket fan Harry still gets caught up in the international football and is convinced, as he has been for all the previous competitions, that this will be England's year. Ruth disagrees of course but doesn't have the heart to disabuse his theory. Not that she follows football; she can't stand it but she knows England's track record and just can't see them winning. She doesn't like any sport really, although she does admit to having a soft spot for Johnny Wilkinson and not because of his kicking ability. She'd once admitted during a briefing on the Grid that she wouldn't object if the England fly-half had wanted to make her Mrs Wilkinson; something that Harry has never let her live down, especially not since the development of their relationship.

She takes the drinks in for Harry and Wes while she waits for the kettle to boil for her cup of tea. They're too engrossed in the match to notice, but she doesn't mind too much; it's nice for Harry to have this time with Wes; he missed out on doing such things with his own son. Plus it gives her time to finish her book.

* * *

She doesn't get very far with her book; shouts of, 'OH!' and 'REFEREE!' from the living room are too distracting for her to concentrate. Putting the book down she decides to make a start on tea for them. She is chopping carrots when an almighty cheer of "YEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS!" abounds from the direction of the living room causing her to jump and almost slice her finger off.

She looks down at her finger; a small amount of blood is collecting on the scratch the knife has made. She lifts it to her mouth and gives it a quick suck, before examining it once more. It's not deep, but she covers it with a plaster anyway.

She debates going back to the food preparation but decides that, on balance it isn't a good idea; she values all her fingers too much. Instead she leaves the kitchen, picking up Scarlet's lead from the dresser in the hallway, and pops her head round living room door.

"England scored!" Wes announces.

"Yes, I gathered that. I was chopping vegetables at the time and your sudden shout almost caused me to lose a finger."

"Are you okay?" Harry asks, concerned, but not so much that he stops watching the match.

"I'm fine; it's just a scratch. But to save anymore possible injuries, I'm going to take Scarlet out for a walk. There's still some veg to chop though if you think you could tear yourselves away from the TV at half time?"

"Of course," Harry replies dutifully, "don't think much of that Adrian Chiles bloke anyway. His half time analysis is rubbish. Give me Des Lynam any day!"

"Or Gabby Logan," agrees Wes. "She's alright. Not bad to look at either."

Remembering that Ruth was in the room, Harry simply smiled at his young companion and said, "I couldn't possibly comment."

Ruth decides now would be a good time to leave, before the conversation deteriorates any further. "Scarlet!" she calls. The Jack Russell scurries out from behind the sofa, having taken residence there to avoid the football. "You're a creature after my own heart, aren't you girl? Can't be bothered with this football nonsense," she coos to Scarlett as she bends down and clips on her lead.

"It's not nonsense!" protest Wes and Harry in unison.

"It's the beautiful game," Harry continues.

"As long as it's the beautiful game you're watching it for, and not the beautiful presenters

"Of course!" Harry assures. "The beautiful presenters are just a bonus," he adds cheekily. Ruth knows he's only joking and it's testament to how much they love each other and far they've come in their relationship that they are comfortable with that sort of teasing.

"Come on Scarlet," she says with an exaggerated huff, "let's go and leave the men to their…game." She pulls lightly on the lead and the dog follows her obediently into the hall and out of the front door.

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**A/N:** There will be a second part which is mostly already written so should be up in a couple of days.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This chapter kind of took on it's own direction - this wasn't where I'd been planning on going with it, but Ruth was quite insistent; and what Ruth wants, she gets. But if you don't like it, it's her fault! :P

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Ruth walks through the park enjoying the gentle breeze, playing fetch with Scarlet and spending some time alone, thinking. It's been a busy week on the Grid and she doesn't feel like she's had much time to collect her thoughts. After 40 minutes she decides to return home, hopeful of a good result in the football. Harry will be unbearable if England had lost, and she suspects Wes will be in quite a sulk as well.

As she is walking past the shops, something in the window catches her eye and makes her smile. Thinking about Harry's enthusiasm for the football, it seems fitting that she should buy it. So, tying Scarlet's lead to the railings outside, she pushes the door to the shop open and enters.

A few minutes later she steps back out of the shop, carrier bag in hand and purse a few pounds lighter, releases an excitable Scarlet from the railings and begins her walk back towards the house, still hoping for a England win.

Unfortunately, the match hasn't finished when she arrives home and, after stowing her purchase so Harry doesn't see it, she is coerced by Wes into watching the final 10 minutes.

"Call it a reward," he says. "For us chopping the veg at half time."

"And putting the chicken in the oven," Harry adds.

"Yeh, and that. Please Aunt Ruth. Please watch with us."

She can't resist Wes' puppy dog eyes so she relents and sits with him on the sofa. The score is 1-1 and, she discovers a few moments later, England are down to 10 men thanks to John Terry losing his temper.

"Bloody referee!" growls Harry, as he gives Spain a free kick.

"Yeh!" echoes Wes. "He needs his eyes testing; no way was that a bad tackle."

"Can't expect much else from a Frenchman! Pompous bastards the lot of them!"

"Harry, language!" scolds Ruth.

"It's okay Aunt Ruth," chuckles Wes. "I've heard worse at school."

"That's not really the point," she begins to explain. Or at least she tries to. She's drowned out by Harry and Wes cheering. Obviously she's missed something so looks back at the television. By some miracle, unbeknownst to her, England have managed to get the ball up the field and in the back of the net! Goal! Cue Harry and Wes cheering and jumping around the living room. When the final whistle blows a few seconds later, their cheers get louder.

Shaking her head at the ability of football to turn grown men (and teenagers) into something resembling five year olds on a sugar high, she retreats from the living room to check on the food.

* * *

Ruth is sat up in bed reading when Harry emerges from the bathroom later that evening after Wes has been collected by his Grandparents.

"You look tired," he comments, folding his clothes over the chair.

"I am."

"That's what you get for putting in several 15 hour days back to back and then entertaining a teenager."

Ruth merely shrugs. "I'm surprised you're not more tired than you are; all that jumping around after England scored."

"You don't like the football do you?"

"Not particularly, which shouldn't really surprise you. But you obviously do, and Wes enjoys it."

"What's not to enjoy; it's the beaut-"

"-iful game," she interrupts. "Yes I know, you have told me a few times over the last couple of weeks."

"Sorry. We did rather disturb your afternoon today didn't we?"

"Don't worry about it. It's nice for you to spend time with Wes like that. It's good for him."

"I should have done it more with Graham," he regresses. "I should have been around more full stop. Maybe I see Wes as my chance to redeem myself in some way."

Putting the book down, Ruth pats the bed next to her. "Come and sit with me for a minute." Harry regards her curiously, but does as she asks. He watches with interest as she reaches over into the drawer of her bedside cabinet and pulls out a package wrapped in blue paper. "I've got something for you," she tells him, handing him the present. Harry looks momentarily horrified and racks his brain for a clue to what anniversary he's missed. "Relax," Ruth tells him, an amused look on her face, "you've not forgotten anything. I saw it while I was out with Scarlet today and I…" she trails off. "Just open the present, Harry."

Harry slides his finger under the join of the wrapping paper, feeling Ruth's gaze boring into him as he does so. His eyes widen as he peels back the paper to reveal the contents. Contained within several folds of tissue is a tiny white sleep-suit with the words "Future England captain!" emblazoned on the front in red. Harry turns to her, a questioning look on her face.

"You're pregnant?" he asks, almost speechless.

Ruth's face breaks into a smile as she nods.

"How..?"

"I'd have thought by your age you'd have figured that out by now," she teases.

"You know what I mean," he says, recovering slightly. "We've been…careful."

"Obviously not careful enough," she replies. "Are you upset?"

"No," Harry insists immediately. "I'm just…shocked, surprised."

"I never thought I'd see the day; Sir Harry Pearce nearly speechless!"

"Well, I've never been given news like this before." Ruth raises an eyebrow. "Well yes, I've been told I'm going to be a father before, but it wasn't entirely unexpected then. How long have you known?"

"I suspected at the end of last week but I didn't have it confirmed until yesterday. I didn't want to tell you until I was completely sure, then I saw this while I was out walking Scarlet earlier and I felt given this afternoon's activities that it would be a fitting way to tell you. Are you really happy about this? I know we haven't really spoken about children…"

"I'm ecstatic Ruth, honestly. I'll admit that after the divorce I never thought I would have any more children. I wasn't a great father and I didn't have another relationship serious enough to even consider it. But since you and I have been together I have wondered about it. I came to the conclusion that I was probably too old but it seems Mother Nature has other ideas."

"It would appear so," she agrees.

"How do you feel about this?" he asks. If the look on her face is anything to go by, he already knows the answer, but he feels it's only right to double check. If there's one thing he's learnt over the years, it's never to assume anything when it comes to women.

"I'm happy," she tells him, beaming. "It took me a while to get my head around the idea. Like you say, we're…"

"Old?" Harry offers.

"You speak for yourself!" Ruth cries, a little affronted! "I was going to say, 'not exactly young'."

"Same thing."

"Hmph! Well I prefer my phrasing."

Harry chuckles "Sorry. I don't think you're old. Really I don't." He reaches out towards her stomach tentatively. "May I?"

"Of course you can you daft sod!" she chuckles. "It's your baby too."

He places his hand gently on her stomach and speaks softly, "Hey little one. You okay in there? I'm your Dad."

Ruth knows that the baby won't be able to hear anything yet, but she doesn't have the heart to point this out to Harry. She just lets her hand join his and interlinks their fingers. They are silent for a while; just basking in the moment before Harry has a thought. "As cute as this outfit is," he begins, holding up the sleep-suit, "what if it's a girl?"

"England have a women's team don't they?"

"They do, but…" he trails off, not sure how to tactfully articulate what he is thinking

"Harry Pearce, are you saying girls can't play football?" she asks with a mock glare.

"Of course not dear, but if she inherits your clumsiness and lack co-ordination it's hardly likely to happen is it?" In his eagerness to convince her that he isn't a sexist pig, he forgets about tact.

"You cheeky bugger!" she cries and playfully slaps him on the chest.

Harry holds his hands up in surrender. "Sorry but you have to admit you're not the most athletic person. I've seen your training assessment results remember; your physical endurance score was shockingly low."

"And I suppose yours was better?"

"Almost perfect," he informs her with a smug grin.

"Well let's hope this little one inherits your athletic ability,"

"Or not. I'm not sure I could keep up if they do. Not now at any rate Ten years ago, probably."

"Can we really do this Harry? Or are we bonkers for even considering it?"

"You've always been bonkers," he teases, "but brilliant with it. You can do anything you put your mind to. I, on the other hand, well…I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to parenting do I."

"Harry-"

He hasn't finished however, so places a finger gently on her lips to shush her. "But, I've learnt from my mistakes. Yes we might be older than the average parents but that does give us some advantage. Older and wiser, remember. Besides, I'm sure once this little one is here, he or she will take years off us."

Ruth leans up and kisses him. "I love you."

"Good," he replies. "So you won't mind that Wes is coming over again for the semi-final next week then?"

Ruth lets out a small sigh, "And I suppose he'll be coming for the final as well?"

"Of course."

Ruth can't help the groan of displeasure that escapes her and as she gently strokes her stomach, where the beginnings of a new life are growing, she hopes and prays that, girl or boy, their child doesn't inherit Harry's fondness for 'the beautiful game'.

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**A/N:** If you could spare two minutes please leave a review; the reader:reviewer ratio was quite low for the previous chapter (154:7 at the time of posting this) and I'd really like to see that increase. I live for reviews - each one really does bring a smile to my face.


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